


Only One Tark

by Definitely_Lost



Category: The Girl from the Well - Rin Chupeco
Genre: Okiku is very protective of her boy, Tark is awkward, What else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Definitely_Lost/pseuds/Definitely_Lost
Summary: Okiku and Tark are doing their best to keep up with their respective jobs as well as take care of each other. Of course, 'undead avenger' and 'teenage exorcist' make for very interesting jobs.
Relationships: Tarquin Halloway & Okiku
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Only One Tark

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first contribution to this [sadly small] fandom, so constrictive criticism is very welcome. i am also no expert in Japanese mythology, or exorcism for that matter, so I apologize if I upset you with anything inaccurate.

Tark’s POV 

The alleyway is dark. The faded shine of the flickering street lamps does little to light the way of the man in the red hoodie. He looks very small, standing alone in a black passage between two buildings. He has a kind face. He doesn’t look like the kind of man to hurt anyone, much less children. But the two ghost kids grappling on his back say differently. Their faces are sallow and whitened, and their eyes are hollow. One looks like she’s been here for years, with her skin hanging limply off her bones, and even those are barely staying together. The other seems like he was killed more recently. His skin is colorless but flawless nonetheless and his hair has retained some of its bounce. They are both bound to their killer by thick ropes around their wrists. 

I am leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the alley. My arms are crossed over my chest, and my hood and mask hide my face from Red Hoodie. He hasn’t seen me yet even though I’ve been here for a few minutes watching him light his cigarettes. He has no idea what’s coming. 

I stand up and shuffle my feet against the cement to get Red Hoodie’s attention. He looks up briskly, and our eyes meet. He dismisses me the moment he sees me. Probably because I look like a skinny, antisocial teenager. Not to say that I’m not that, but that isn’t the version of me that this man is about to see. 

“Get lost, kid,” Red Hoodie mutters. I don’t budge. He glares at me again. “I said, get lost.” He throws a cigarette butt at my feet. 

And that’s when things start to get weird. 

Another figure begins to claw herself out of mine. Her mangled, broken body makes cracking noises with each jerk of her snapped neck. Her gray skin and blue lips are the clear mark of a drowned victim, and the curtain of dark hair covering her face is long enough to drag on the cement behind her as she pulls herself by her arms. She is making a soft gurgling sound in the back of her throat that gets louder as she nears her target. 

“What the hell-” Red Hoodie exclaims, stumbling backward, not believing what he is seeing. “What is that  _ thing _ ?” 

That  _ thing  _ is Okiku. A three hundred year old dead girl who was thrown down a well by a man she trusted. An avenging spirit who takes the souls of those who take souls. The savior of my life and the one thing that keeps me safe. 

So it’s only fair that I allow her the small pleasure of destroying these bastards. 

As she crawls towards Red Hoodie I am possessed briefly by the voices that 

_ Rip rip tear skin blood _

_ Make pay payment his fault  _

_ Kill kILL RIP _

haunt Okiku’s mind. Ever since she started inhabiting my body I’ve been hearing the voices when she decides it’s time to go out for the kill. Not that I mind much; I hate these assholes as much as she does. But the ferocity and malice that they bring is still unsettling. 

I turn away and walk calmly out of the alley as Okiku grasps Red Hoodie’s ankle before he can run. 

“Wait!” He pleads to me. “Don’t leave me to die! Don’t let this thing-” He is cut off by gargles and I don’t stop to see what has happened. I already know. 

I wait in the car for Okiku to finish. Technically I don’t have to be here right now. This place is close enough that Okiku could go alone without opening me up to any other spirit out there. But I prefer to be here. I want to support her, and I want her to know that she is not utterly alone in this. I owe Okiku my life. 

The  _ onryuu _ materializes in the seat next to me after a few seconds. I look at the sky above the alley and see the two balls of light vanish into the sky. This is both of our favorite parts of this job. Watching the childrens’ spirits go free. 

“Wanna head home, Ki?” I ask her. 

She nods curtly. Okiku has never been much of a talker. 

I start the ignition and begin to drive us home. 

Okiku’s POV

Tark is in the kitchen. I have seen this kitchen so many times. I have never really had a home. I never stay in one place for very long. But this house comes as close to a home as I have ever had. 

He is sitting at the kitchen table, slowly chewing on leftover Chinese takeout. His father is not home, so he eats alone. I start to count the tiles on the floor (one hundred ninety-eight). I have counted them a million times before, but I have nothing else to do. So I count them again. 

“Hey, Ki?” Tark calls. I look up from the floor to meet his eyes. Once, when our eyes met, he would flinch and try to look away. I think it is because I still have the appearance of the vengeful dead, the same betrayed eyes that have no life left in them. Now, though, he has become used to me. He looks at me as if I were a normal person. Which I am not. 

“Do you ever want to come sit up here with me?” He asks. I give him a blank look. Even if I was to sit with him, I could not eat. 

“I know, I know, you can’t eat food,” he says sadly. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. But I feel bad just letting you sit on the floor, or the ceiling, while I sit in a chair and enjoy my food. So if you ever want to sit with me, please do.” He shuffles a bit in his seat. “Besides, with Dad out of the house for a few days it gets kind of lonely.” 

I do not see the need to sit at the table with him. But I can tell by his voice and the way he is talking that he wants me to. So I drift away from the kitchen tiles and take the seat across from him. 

“So, uh,” Tark stutters. “Usually people are supposed to talk when they eat dinner together. So, what do you want to talk about?” He is very obviously feeling awkward. 

“What is there to talk about?” I ask him back. 

He looks down at his food. “I don’t know. We go everywhere together, so there’s not much news that you don’t already know.” 

We sit in silence until Tark finishes his meal. Then he heads to his room to get ready to go to bed. I am perched on the ceiling, waiting for him. I have seen this room a million times, too. He has a bed (one), some bookshelves (two) that are filled with books (fifty-one), and a lamp (one) on his bedside table (one). I would recognize this room anywhere. 

When Tark finally emerges from the bathroom in his sleep shirt and tucks himself into bed, I do not move although my eyes follow him across the room. I do my best to give him his privacy but it is hard sometimes when I have nothing else to do. 

“Night, Ki,” he mutters before turning off his lamp and shrouding the room in darkness. 

“Goodnight, Tark,” I reply. 

Tark’s POV

I wake up surrounded in a black curtain. When I woke up to this the first few times, I panicked. I was reminded of the darkness that my previous inhabitant left in her wake, and I thought that I’d finally lost to her. But now I am used to the fact that sometimes, when we sleep, Okiku’s hair wraps around me like a second blanket. I think it’s part of her unconscious desire to keep me safe, which is actually kind of adorable. I have to admit that waking up in her embrace is a welcome feeling. 

I carefully pull myself out of it and get myself dressed for the day. It’s summer break so I don’t have anywhere to be. I just prefer to get up at a certain time each day to keep myself in tune. Otherwise, the days start to blur together. 

As I make myself breakfast (nothing special, just a bowl of cereal) Okiku counts the shelves on the wall again. I see her do this every morning and I feel bad that I can’t give her something else to do. 

My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out and answer the call, expecting it to be Dad. But I’m met with an unfamiliar voice. 

“Are you Tarquin Halloway?” the girl asks. 

“Who are you?” I counter, suspicion in my voice. Okiku looks up suddenly to make sure I’m okay. I nod at her to make sure she knows I’m not in imminent danger. 

“My name is Kayla,” the girl says. She takes a shaky breath. “I was told you’re an exorcist.” 

What a way to start a conversation. “Why do you want to know if I’m an exorcist?” 

“I-I need your help if you are,” Kayla says. “I, um- My family just moved here. We have a house in the neighborhood next to the church. There was a really old tree in the yard that my family didn’t want so we cut it down. But, um… the bark, it…” 

“I promise whatever you are about to say will not sound crazy to me,” I tell her calmly. It’s probably true. I don’t want to say I’m a professional exorcist, but I have been studying Japanese mythology and purification rituals ever since the incident in Japan. I have seen multiple different ghosts and spirits, not to mention the one living inside me currently. 

“Well, the tree… We cut into it with a chainsaw, and it started to… bleed.” 

I put down my mug of coffee and pull out a sticky note pad from the drawer in front of me. “The tree was bleeding? Are you sure? It wasn’t sap or gas from the chainsaw?” 

“N-No, it was red and sticky. I think it was blood.” Kayla took another shaky breath. “After that, we stopped cutting it. We decided that it could stay. We just didn’t want to get involved with anything weird or supernatural. But ever since we did that, weird things are happening in our house. Things are going missing and turning up broken or just not turning up at all. Our furniture is falling over and recently my brother tripped on nothing and fell down the stairs. He almost broke his neck. This probably sounds stupid, but I really think something’s wrong. My parents think it’s just bad luck, but I would really appreciate it if you could come over and check things out. I’m actually… really scared.” 

“Okay,” I say slowly, after I finish writing things down on the sticky note. “Send me your address and I’ll come take a look. I’m sure everything is fine,” I add, just to calm her down a little bit. 

Kayla says a quick thank you and hangs up. I address Okiku. “Hey, Ki, I’m going to go investigate a house later today, okay? I have an idea of what might be wrong, but I don’t know yet.” 

She doesn’t respond, as is her custom. The only sign she heard me is a slight nod before she vanishes. 

I arrive at the house a few minutes later. Okiku sits beside me in the passenger seat, but remains silent and watchful. A redheaded girl who I assume is Kayla is waiting for me in front of an old brick house that matches the address I was given. 

“Tarquin?” 

I nod. 

“Thank you for coming. Can I show you the tree? I don’t like to get too close to it, but you can see it if that would help.”

She takes me behind her house to the forest in the back. She is right, the tree does look out of place. It sticks out from the rest of the woods, and obviously has no plans to change that. Its roots are thick and run deep, making grooves in the soil beneath. It is old, and has been here a long time. Everything about it matches my theory about what is wrong here. My suspicions are confirmed when I see the thin, weather-worn rope tied around the trunk. It is dirty and shorn, stuck firmly to the wood by the grime that has collected over years. 

There is a fresh cut in the tree’s side, presumably from the chainsaw. The inside of it is stained a dark brown, the unmistakable color of dried blood. 

“I think I know what’s wrong with your tree, Kayla.” 

She looks up at me hopefully. “What is it?”

“A Japanese spirit called a  _ kodama _ . They’re wood spirits who inhabit some older trees. Some  _ kodama  _ trees are marked with a rope so that people know not to harm it. Anyone who tries to cut down or damage the tree could be cursed by the spirit.” 

Kayla bites her lip. “Is that it then? We’re cursed?” She exhales anxiously. “Is there anything you can do to break the curse? I can pay you. Please, I just want to have a normal life again.” 

I glance at Okiku, who is amusing herself by counting the bricks on the side of Kayla’s house. She does not seem concerned by any spirits in the area, which leads me to believe that there is nothing to be particularly concerned about. 

“Yeah, I can help,” I say to Kayla. 

I tell her to wait inside the house, as whatever I’m about to do will make no sense to her and she might just get in my way. I fill a few buckets with water from her hose and mix them with the salt I brought.  _ Kodama  _ aren’t malicious spirits so there should be no need to keep any salt water on me, but I do chew some sage and put some in my shoes. Okiku has disappeared, probably off to a different side of the house to continue counting bricks. 

Once everything is ready and I’m prepared to start the ritual, Okiku still hasn’t reappeared. I’m guessing she got bored and wandered off as she often does. I guess I’ll just have to do it without her. 

I start the recording on my phone of the rolling chants I’ve studied so carefully ever since the woman in black was expelled from my body. I chant with the man, trying to draw out the spirit. The sky has gone dark and cloudy, the usual summer sun blocked out by gray. I feel the power from my words flowing through the dirt underneath me and my voice is ringing in my own ears. Hopefully the spirit is as bothered by it as I am. 

I don’t have to wait for long. At the foot of the tree, in a tangle of roots, a small figure begins to claw itself out of the dirt. It’s pale, bald, and maybe two feet tall. It almost looks like it’s made of clay or bone. It makes clicking sounds as it moves, and it reminds me of a bobblehead. 

I continue chanting as it crawls closer to me. Its face is blank, with only a few knots to represent an unreadable face. I pull out the small knife at my side. I brought it thinking I wouldn’t have to use it, but by the way the  _ kodama  _ is looking at me I have the horrible feeling that I could not have been more wrong. 

It leaps at me suddenly, its gnarled limbs reaching to claw my face off. I swipe with the knife and drop my phone into the grass, though I never stop chanting. I miss, of course, because I was never trained for hand to hand combat. Even if I wanted to be, I doubt there are many places that teach you how to fight off a tiny tree demon that lives in a cursed tree. 

Although I’m desperately swiping at it with a knife, it doesn’t seem bothered by my feeble attempts at all. Its tiny little hands are armed with thorny claws that tear patches of skin off my arm. It moves so fast, I’m having trouble keeping up with its movements. I’ve stopped chanting, having to divert all my energy just to keep it away from my face. Although I’ve been training to pull stunts like this for a while, I’m not sure how much longer I can hold my own against it. 

Just as I think I’m about to get my face sliced open, a black and white blur barrels into the  _ kodama _ , knocking it off me. It moves too fast for my brain to comprehend, but I know for a fact that it’s Okiku. 

I should be grateful that she saved my life and is engaging the  _ kodama  _ by herself, since she is much more powerful than a skinny teenager like me, but all I am now is concerned. Okiku is a strong spirit in her own right, but against the  _ kodama  _ she’s automatically disadvantaged. She is a spirit of water, and it is a spirit of wood. Just being in proximity to it weakens her, but fighting it hand to hand mere feet away from its spiritual tree? This can’t end well for her. 

I need to act fast. While the  _ kodama  _ is distracted, I resume my chanting and start to sprinkle sage around the roots of the tree. The gash that was there previously begins to ooze a red, sticky substance that looks a lot like blood, and pretty soon every pore in the tree is leaking the same liquid. 

Okiku is making hissing sounds as she tangles with the  _ kodama _ , trying to sink her nails into its white, bony skin. Although it’s tiny, it is blocking every attack she makes and returning it with twice the force. If I can’t get it out of the tree soon, my favorite ghost is going to die a second time. 

With a final chant and a deep breath, I jab my knife into the tree. I get sprayed by the strange blood the tree is spouting, but after a minute the flow stops. The remaining blood seeps into the dirt amidst the tree’s roots, and disappears back into the earth. 

The  _ kodama  _ screeches, and falls to its stubby little knees. Okiku draws back, her head hanging low and he back slouched. She’s covered in tiny scratches that are all bleeding black, but I know the main damage has been done to her invisible spirit, which allows her to appear in her physical form. 

With one last jab to the tree, the  _ kodama  _ spirit begins to crumble and rot like old wood. It curves backwards into itself, and its face caves like a black hole had been created inside its skull. In a few seconds, nothing is left but dust. 

As soon as the demon is gone, I rush to Okiku’s side. She can barely sit up. It’s unusual for her to be so tired after such a small tussle, but I remind myself that she was fighting a powerful spirit on its home turf that weakened her more for every second she stood on its ground. I place my hands behind her neck and under her back to let her lay down on my lap. 

“You okay?” I ask her softly. There’s not much I can do about her injuries; ghosts don’t use bandaids or neosporin.   
“I am okay,” she whispers, even though it’s clear she’s hurting. 

“Thanks for saving me back there.” 

Okiku blinks slowly. Her black eyes somehow convey a mixture of emotion: pain, exhaustion, relief. “I am just glad that you are okay.” She shakes a little in my arms, and I know she’s struggling to stay physical just so she can keep talking to me. “I did not want you to get hurt.” She presses her delicate fingers to the scrapes on my arm, the way she does when she wants to make sure I’m okay. I nod to her, affirming that I am not in any serious danger from a few cuts. 

I press a hand to my chest. “Now you should rest for a bit in here. You need to recover.” 

She closes her eyes and her form turns transparent and fades until it is no longer there. I’m kneeling in the dirt holding empty air, and though I can feel her presence inside me, seeing Okiku vanish still causes a small amount of panic for me. 

I stand slowly and say a quick goodbye to Kayla. She tries to offer me a few dollars for my services, and though part of me wants to take them, another part says that I don’t need it and I would have done this anyway. I let her keep her money and drive myself home. 

Once I’m in my bedroom again, I sit down on the edge of my mattress. Not even half the day has gone by, and I already feel like I need a nap. 

Okiku materializes on the bed next to me. Her injuries have mostly disappeared, but I can tell that she’s still weak. She lies down on her side, her eyes never leaving my face. Her hands are cupped innocently under her face, serving as a pillow. 

“You should still be in here,” I tell her, pointing to my chest. 

“I wanted to see you,” she replies. “To make sure you are okay. And… because I like to talk to you,” she adds hesitantly. 

“Well, I appreciate that,” I say, lying down across from her so we can still face each other. “Though I do not appreciate you unnecessarily weakening yourself.”

Okiku has changed her form again. Though usually she takes the guise of the horrifying, drowned undead, when she’s happy she can take the form of how she was before her death. A beautiful young girl, with bright brown eyes and full lips. I am reminded of how beautiful she can be; it catches me off guard every time. 

It’s a realization I think I’ve made before: I love her. I have always loved her, since the first time I saw her, since the first time she saved me. I love her. In every sense of the word. 

I cup my hand under her jaw and run a thumb over her cheekbone. Her skin is soft now, unlike the saggy, bloated texture that it usually is. I lean a little closer to her, unsure of what I’m doing. All I know is that I love her, and I want her to feel the same. 

I hesitate for a moment before opening my arms and engulfing her in them. When I wake up wrapped in her hair, I always feel safe. Unfortunately, my hair cannot grow so long as to wrap itself around her, but I guess an awkward hug will have to do. However, when I feel her lean into me and exhale onto my collarbone, it doesn’t feel so awkward

_ I love her. I love her. I love her.  _

Okiku’s POV

Tark is hugging me. It’s an alien feeling to me, the loving touch of someone that I’ve been lacking for centuries. I’ve never stopped to think about whether someone could ever love me again. After my first love, I was convinced that I would never feel that way about anyone. After all, how could anyone love something such as me, a rotted corpse of a ruined girl, left to break apart slowly over the many years I was alone? 

But the security I feel tucked into him is like being alive all over again. 

_ I love him.  _

It’s somewhat of a terrifying realization. Up until now, I only understood it as ‘I want him to live. I don’t want him to get hurt. I want him to be safe. I want him to be happy.’ But deep down, I think I always knew. I love him. 

The warmth from his body is almost enough to replace the heat that has been missing from mine since I can remember. Tarquin is almost enough to make up for the loss of life inside me. 

And wrapped in the comfort of his arms, I can only pray that I’m almost enough for him. 

I have spent much of my time in this world counting. I know that there are seven continents, one hundred and ninety five countries, and almost eight billion people. But in all my years of searching, all these centuries of counting, I have found that there is only one Tark. 


End file.
